


all the spaces between us

by jirin



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Canon Temporary Character Death, Ensemble Cast, Getting Together, Humor, M/M, Mortality, Non-Linear Narrative, Unhelpful Relationship Advice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:21:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28145286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jirin/pseuds/jirin
Summary: For a place full of the dead, crammed with ghostly shades and nothing but the endless lull of eternity unchanging, gossip sure travelled fast in the Underworld.Or, Zagreus mulls over his relationship with Thanatos while the rest of the Underworld get overly invested.
Relationships: Thanatos/Zagreus (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 347
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	all the spaces between us

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nohrg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nohrg/gifts).



> Hi giftee! I hope you enjoy the fic. From your prompt, I went with a get-together fic, which hopefully blends a bit of both shippy and non-shippy dynamics between Zagreus and Thanatos. 
> 
> Many thanks to my beta, for the discussions about Hades characterisation, encouragement, and advice!

Zagreus hauls himself out of the Pool of Styx, its strange, murky waters clinging to him like oil slick. Each step he takes splatters red droplets across the stone floor, leaving behind sticky, warm footprints in his wake, and he shakes his head, trying to clear the post-death fuzziness.

Hypnos is dozing, curled up in the heavy cloak slung around his shoulders—but he startles awake when Zagreus walks past, fumbling for his quill and parchment.

“Oh, hey,” he’s saying, “I didn't see you come in, um, welcome back!”

“Thanks, Hypnos—”

A rustle of parchment, and a faint cough. “ _Ahem_. Ooh, look the list is telling me you caught one of those gigantic Temple saw blades square in the chest huh? Ugh, sounds terrible, but hey, at least you’re back in one piece! Anyway, I’ve been meaning to ask, no big deal really if you don’t wanna talk, but...”

Zagreus pauses mid-step, when he realises that Hypnos has trailed off into silence, and he blinks, turning around with a question on his lips, only to find Hypnos staring at him. There’s a surprising alertness in his eyes, a curious gleam that makes Zagreus glance down at himself, just to check there's nothing amiss.

“What?”

Hypnos tilts his head, twirling his quill between his fingers. “So is it true? You know, about you and Thanatos?”

~~~

As with all questions pertaining to Thanatos, there’s an easy answer and a complicated answer when it comes to these things.

When Zagreus first learns of the mortal realm, it sparks a curiosity in him like nothing before. An itch that demands to be scratched—the onset of an idea, a desire that begins to unfurl and take root somewhere in his chest.

It wasn’t that he didn’t know about the mortal realm—growing up in a House full of shades, living shadows of the dead, Zagreus had figured out a long time ago that they had to be coming from _somewhere_ —but the concept always seemed so distant and far away. He kept a listening ear out for the whispers he’d catch from time to time, but it seemed to be a sensitive topic, as elusive as his father’s good moods.

When he broaches the topic with his father, the only conclusion he manages to draw is how inconsiderately populous mortals were. _Be off with you, boy, and leave me be,_ Hades would scoff, stormy eyes darkening. _Learning about the mortal realm will do you little good here._

Far from dissuaded, Zagreus takes his questions elsewhere.

“My time on the mortal plane?” Achilles blinks at him, grip loosening on his spear as he considers the question. He casts a glance toward the desk where Hades resides, before turning back to Zagreus with a shake of his head. “I scarce remember it, lad. I’ve only the memory of my ill-fated pursuits of glory, and the mistakes that have brought me to my circumstances here. I’m afraid I’d have little to tell you regarding the banalities of life on the surface.”

When Zagreus asks Nyx next, gazing up at her with earnest curiosity, she merely shakes her head. “The doings of mortals are more the domain of my children than mine, dear child,” she says. “Perhaps you could ask one of them? I did see Thanatos around earlier.”

—and so Zagreus makes his way to the southern end of the West Wing, where a cloaked figure hovers on the simple balcony, overlooking the river Styx as it flows sluggishly past the House.

“The mortal realm?” Thanatos asks him, brow furrowing at Zagreus’s query.

“Is it much different to the Underworld? It must be, surely.” Zagreus perches on the stone balustrade that lines the edge of the balcony, and peers down into the murky depths of the river. Sometimes he sees a pale face, or the faint outline of an arm or a leg, as another soul floats down its waters. “Nyx rarely speaks of it, and Achilles only ever tells me what he thinks Father wouldn't be upset by, but you must see plenty of it while you're up there working. What's it really like?"

“Where’s this curiosity coming from, Zagreus?” Thanatos looks at Zagreus out of the corner of his eye. He’s got his arms crossed, hovering a handspan above the cold tiles the way he does when he’s not in the mood to relax. “You know Lord Hades dislikes idle conversation about it in the House.”

“Yes, well, Father dislikes an awful lot of the things I find interesting. Besides, if he’s to insist on my helping him with the paperwork to process all of these mortals and their contracts, I hardly see how not knowing about the mortal realm is supposed to help me.” Zagreus glances at the shades drifting down the hall as he speaks; if they've overheard him, they pay little mind, shuffling along and murmuring in the strange way that they do. “And I figured who better to learn from than someone who’s been there. Been there a lot of times, actually! I’ve tried to ask a few of the shades actually, but they um, mostly talk about how they died.”

“That _is_ what mortal life tends to lead to,” comes the dry reply, but it’s obvious that Thanatos is relenting, sinking down until his feet touch the stone tiles as he turns to Zagreus and tilts his head. “What would you want to know, anyway? I don’t find it all too pleasant myself. It’s bright. Uncomfortable. More sensation than I’d necessarily like to feel.”

“It can't be all that bad, with how big the mortal realm is,” Zagreus presses. Thanatos's expression is difficult to read, the long fall of his hair covering part of his face, and Zagreus wonders if he's missing something. “It is big, isn’t it? Or do you only see parts of it? Do mortals tend to die in one place?”

Thanatos exhales, and Zagreus wonders if he’ll get a snippy comment about being interrogated, but there’s no such reply. "They do, at times,” Thanatos says instead. “During wars, on battlefields. Plagues that consume whole towns and cities. Though I’ve little involvement with those deaths."

“Right. I think Father gets annoyed when we have a whole bunch come in at once.” Zagreus sneaks a glance towards the upper end of the hall, where Achilles is standing guard. “But I suppose mortals don’t live very long, do they?”

"Barely a blink," Thanatos agrees. He follows Zagreus’s gaze, though if he catches on to what Zagreus is thinking, there’s no change in his expression. "Mortal lifespans are often short. Some are cut shorter by the Fates than others. Don’t ask me why," he cuts in, when he sees Zagreus open his mouth, “I wouldn’t know. I’ve little to do with the work of my sisters.”

His sisters—the Fates, assigning destinies to each and every mortal from time immemorial. It seems everyone, even the gods he’d never hope to meet, has some connection to the mortal realm. Zagreus feels that small twinge in his chest grow more insistent—like a cold pebble sitting under his ribs, jostling him with every breath he takes in the stifling halls of the House. He’s not sure he belongs here; he’s not sure he ever did.

“I wonder if mortals miss it,” he says, suddenly. “Being on the surface. Living the lives they had, before coming down here as shades for the rest of eternity.”

“To be frank, I think many of them find it a relief—mortal life isn’t always a kind experience, and the Underworld tends to be…” Thanatos trails off, studying Zagreus. A fleeting expression passes over his face—the line of his mouth softens, the furrow of his brow smoothing out—as he says, “I suppose, if you’re still curious, I’ll...see if I can bring you something back.”

“Huh? Wait, what, really?” Zagreus whips his head around so fast to look at Thanatos, that he nearly unbalances and goes splashing right into the Styx. He peers at Thanatos, not quite sure he heard right—but Thanatos refuses to look at him. “You’re not serious, are you—”

“Well, if you don’t want anything, then I suppose I needn’t bother...” Thanatos says, letting the words hang in the air. He doesn’t quite meet Zagreus’s eyes as he speaks.

“No, wait, come on—Than, you can’t make a promise like that and then take it back!”

Maybe, Zagreus muses, it started there.

Feelings, he finds, are a complicated thing. Confusing and distracting at the best of times, and prone to arising at the most inopportune times—which unfortunately included being, erm, _late._ Zagreus would admit that all things considered, perhaps he should have recognized his feelings for Thanatos earlier on, in the grand scheme of their relationship. Though worldly ideas like _time_ and being _late_ should hold little consequence to an immortal prince of the unchanging Underworld. (His father would perhaps disagree, if his comments regarding Zagreus’s tardiness to his job were anything to go by).

But it does rather complicate things when Zagreus looks back and realises with a slight sinking feeling, that the object of his affections—the fearsome, moody god of Death—has been waiting a very, very long time indeed.

If Achilles is surprised by Zagreus’s embarrased, fumbling question, he recovers quickly, straightening from his soldier’s stance. “You wish to...woo a potential lover? I’m...not sure I’m the best person to ask about that, lad. My experience with relationships on the surface was fraught and hurried at best, as tends to be the case when one is a warrior. Why do you ask?”

“Well, I’d hoped—see, you mentioned having a lover while you were still alive, and—” Zagreus clears his throat, already regretting this line of conversation. “I... I suppose I was just looking for a little guidance. I fear I’ve been rather remiss, lately, and I was hoping to make it up to—him.”

He sees a knowing light flicker in Achilles’s gaze then, wise and sharp as he knows his old mentor to be. A less than conspicuous glance to the right, where the balcony sits empty, and Zagreus feels a tell-tale warmth come unbidden to his cheeks.

“Well,” Achilles says, a shadow of a smile playing about his lips. “I understand you’ve been taking my last advice to heart? Some things come as a matter of time, lad, and there’s no rushing something as fickle as love. I’m sure your thoughtful gifts leave a lasting impression with him.”

“You’re looking a little worse for wear,” is the first thing Thanatos remarks, when he appears.

Zagreus brightens. “Than!”

The eerie glow that accompanies Thanatos's arrival fades rapidly, as though melting into the suffocating heat of Asphodel. This chamber feels especially hot, the sheer pressure of warm air like a physical wall. But Zagreus still jogs from the rickety pier where he'd arrived, across the burnt rockery of the cooled lava islands. Thanatos seems happy to float where he is, unbothered by the lava bubbling and bursting with molten flecks of rock. But the wrinkle of his nose shifts into a frown when Zagreus draws near, clearly unimpressed with his state of being.

"I came out all this way thinking you could use a hand, Zagreus, but I clearly overestimated how much help I can offer if you're already like this." Thanatos drifts towards him, until he’s close enough to touch. He raises his hand, but drops it back by his side as he seems to think better of it. His expression flickers between concern and disapproval. "I would have thought you’d be better used to dealing with Asphodel by now. What happened to you?"

"I mean, it doesn't feel that bad. Looks worse than it is, really—" but at Thanatos's pointed look, Zagreus gives in, "—alright fine, there was a grouchy Megagorgon several chambers ago, and I _might've_ gotten a little reckless. It’s not that bad, is it?"

He glances down at himself, feeling a little self-conscious now that Thanatos won't stop staring. Numerous bruises and scratches litter his body, tell-tale signs of his earlier struggles. The ripped chiton, in hindsight, must be a dead giveaway—that, or it might be the jagged slash across his right shoulder, still sluggishly dripping blood down the length of his back. Zagreus offers a reassuring smile, but from the way Thanatos's frown deepens, it probably just makes him look all the more a sorry sight.

"I'd ask if you're ready,” Thanatos says, with an air of doubt. “But I suspect the answer to that will be no. Will you even be able to stand long enough to cut down your foes?"

Zagreus lifts his sword for an experimental strike, mid-air. It wobbles slightly in his grip. Well, that wasn’t great, but, "Erm, I can definitely give it a go?"

"That's not giving me a lot of confidence, Zagreus." If Thanatos’s reply were any more dry, it’d soak up what little moisture was left in the chamber.

"Oh. Well." It's Zagreus's turn to frown now. "Do you not want to have our competition then?"

He’ll admit the idea is a little disappointing. It’s bad enough that this escape attempt isn’t exactly panning out. Thanatos’s appearance had given him a faint glimmer of hope—not just for the promise of a centaur heart just the sight of Thanatos had lifted his spirits considerably.

“It’d rather ruin the purpose, wouldn’t it? If we were to have our match, only for me to watch you die five seconds into it.” Thanatos crosses his arms, narrowing his eyes. "Unless that’s what you’re asking of me?”

Well, no, Zagreus isn't too keen on the idea of dying either—returning home when he'd only gotten part-way through Asphodel is less a badge of honour and more a mark of shame these days—but what exactly are his options here? Thanatos isn't giving him a whole lot of suggestions. In fact, Zagreus suspects that if asked outright, Thanatos will just make a snippy remark about how Zagreus shouldn't have gotten himself into this situation in the first place. But it's too late for that now.

“Even you can’t know for certain whether I’d die or not this round, Than.” Zagreus lets a grin come to his face, the one with thinly masked confidence that he knows Thanatos is inclined to give in to. “Who knows, I might surprise you!”

As expected, Thanatos sighs. Though, it’s a little exasperated—it seems Thanatos is well enough aware of his own soft spot for Zagreus’s smiles. He eyes Zagreus over, scanning him critically. "Fine. I suppose there's nothing for it. Well, then? Are you ready?”

Zagreus gives him a thumbs up, and Thanatos stretches his scythe out in front of him. Something shifts in the acrid air, the heat thickening to something impossibly hot, and then with a rattle of loose stones on the hardened lava beneath them, the first group of Bloodless and Bone-Rakers are clambering upon them.

They're easy enough to dispatch, Zagreus finds, even with the soreness in his wounded shoulder. He raises his sword into a defensive stance, calculating each move before he makes it. Strike, dash, cast, repeat. Falling into the rhythm feels like a familiar dance, bringing back flashbacks of the training sessions from when he was younger. Beside him, he hears the intermittent sound of Thanatos’s strike—a hollow gong, followed shortly by the ground turning into an empty darkness, as black as night.

“Hey Than,” Zagreus calls, as he smacks another Bloodless into the burning lava. “How is it that you manage to find me all the time, anyway?”

“If you’ve enough breath to talk, then you clearly aren’t working hard enough.”

“I’m at least two kills ahead of you!”

A familiar gong reverberates through the air. “And now you’re two behind,” comes the reply, with only a hint of smugness.

“Eurgh, if you’re going to be like that—”

Zagreus feels it as a punch to his chest, a heavy slam that knocks the wind out of him. Then he _feels_ it: heat twisting deep and jagged into his chest, unbearably warm and piercing hot. He looks down, and sees the Bone-Raker’s claws pull loose with a slick, wet noise.

“No you don’t...Zagreus!” he hears, but the call seems distant and far away.

"Eurgh," Zagreus manages, then blood bubbles up his throat, choking the rest of his words. Shit. It must’ve gotten his lungs. Not good. He collapses down to his knees, his sword a meagre support that soon slips out of his fingers, even as empty darkness swirls beneath him. Mere moments later, the Bone-Raker vanishes with the echo of a gong. But it’s too late already. Zagreus feels himself slump, sinking lower on his knees, unable to keep himself up—he tilts to the side, wavering like a shade, before he hits the ground with a dull thump.

“I knew this would happen,” comes a hazy murmur. The voice verges on upset, like barely restrained anger, and an apology rests on the tip of Zagreus’s tongue, but his mouth won’t cooperate to get the words out.

He's not sure how long he lies there, vision blurring, darkening at the edges. But he manages to hold onto consciousness long enough to feel something brush against his cheek, light enough that he wonders if he’s imagined it. He hears the faint rustle of fabric, feels a cool touch that slips around his shoulders and draws him close.

Then, another quiet murmur that he strains to hear, “Well, come along now,” before a cold rush of air drowns out the rest of his thoughts.

“Eurgh, dammit.”

Zagreus’s first gasp sends cool, stale air rushing into his empty lungs. It’s a familiar sensation, a burn that he barely feels now. The Pool of Styx sloshes around him, a vermillion tide that laps quietly over the lowest levels of the steps leading up to the main chamber.

Dragging himself to the lounge, he orders a drink before he sets both elbows on the bartop and lets his head hang. All in all, a pretty bad run, Zagreus decides, rubbing at his face. That last bit too—he’s not sure if he was imagining things, hearing the things he wanted to hear. Loud, familiar footsteps bring him back to the present—the click-clack of heels as sharp as daggers, followed by the sound of a glass being set down.

“I heard about that last one,” Megaera drawls, from overhead. “Humiliating, I’m sure. Don’t tell me you were that distracted? Or did you die on purpose?”

“Hi Meg.” Zagreus lifts his head to find Megaera leaning against the bar, one thin eyebrow raised. “I’m great, thanks for asking! It was a crushing defeat, yes, and not one I’d like to repeat, quite frankly. Rather unpleasant way to die, bleeding out, though can’t say it’s the worst I’ve had.”

Megaera snorts. “You know that’s not what I meant, Zagreus. My deepest sympathies to Thanatos, if that’s all you have to say after he brings you back with his own two hands. I’d give him some space, after this. He looked like he wanted to strangle you for dying, if you weren’t already dead.”

“Oh,” Zagreus says. He reaches for his glass, condensation cool against his fingers, and presses it to his lips.

“Hmph. You’re such a fool,” Megaera tells him, but there’s an amused twitch to the corner of her lips, and somehow, that’s enough for Zagreus to let his own small smile come through.

“What are you doing out here, Zagreus?”

“Than?” Zagreus twists around from where he sits on the courtyard ledge. “When did you get back?”

“Some time ago,” Thanatos replies, standing a small distance away. He glances around, surveying the surroundings with cursory interest. “My assignment on the surface finished more rapidly than expected, so I thought I would return—Zagreus? You’re staring at me strangely. What is it?”

Zagreus blinks, then laughs, shaking his head. “Sorry, I think it’s just—I don’t think I’ve ever seen you come out to the courtyard. In all our time in the House. I wouldn’t have thought you knew it existed, actually. What are you doing out here anyway? ”

There’s a soft rustle of fabric, a clink of metal fastenings being jostled as Thanatos alights onto the tiles lining the courtyard. “I came to look for you, since you weren’t about the House.” He looks away as he says it, towards the flickering, green flames of torches that light the area. “It...seemed unusual that you didn’t come to greet me.”

“Oh. If I’d known you were home already, I would’ve come back inside.” Zagreus shakes his head. “Didn’t realise I’ve been out here for a while. No one’s looking for me, are they?”

“Not that I know of.” Thanatos steps closer, his feet barely making a sound against the stone. He comes to a halt a step behind Zagreus, expression unreadable as he turns his gaze out across the vista that Zagreus had been staring at.

When Zagreus was younger, the upper courtyard attached to his bed chambers became a source of comfort, of sorts. Something of a substitute for his wistful dreams of escaping the bounds of the House, being as far secluded from its stifling halls as he could get. It seemed a mockery, that he could perch at the edge of the balcony, knees pulled up and chin resting on his arms, staring out to the sprawling caves of Tartarus. They’d glow with an unearthly light, flickering as shades drifted through, coming and going with more freedom than the prince of the Underworld.

The House seems less suffocating, less maddeningly constrictive in recent times, but Zagreus still finds himself coming out here to breathe. “It’s peaceful out here,” he offers, by way of explanation, when the silence stretches out too long between them.

A faint snort. “If you find the echoing screams of those serving their penance under Megaera and her sisters to be peaceful, then yes, it’s certainly peaceful.”

“Rather adds to the atmosphere, I’d say.” Zagreus offers a grin. “You can hardly hear it from here, anyway. I’ve spent long enough both in and out of Tartarus to know.”

“Hmph,” comes the reply. “I hear Tartarus is rather a different place now, with all your upgrades. Lord Hades can’t be too happy about that.”

Zagreus can’t help the fizzle of smug pride at Thanatos’s observation. Who knew that renovating could be just as delightful as ransacking? “I’ve made vast improvements, in my opinion. Besides, Father shouldn’t have put me in charge of the House Contractor if he didn’t want to see things change.”

Truth be told, it’s hard to remember exactly what Tartarus was like before all of his renovations. Though, there were some additions that had felt like a lifeline during his earliest attempts at escape. The installation of fountain rooms, for example, provided much needed respite. A safe haven that he’d stumble into, arms aching with the weight of his sword, and heart clenching with palpable relief as the gentle sound of trickling water rang through the room. Shades would scatter, as alarmed as ghostly shadows could be, as he lunged for the nearest spout of pale green water splashing down into the stone-walled pools.

These days, they pay him little mind. A few gazes would turn to him, then slide away, disinterested. He supposes they’ve seen him enough times that he’s more of a bother than a novelty.

“That reminds me, actually,” Thanatos says, after a pause. “When passing by my station earlier, I noticed...a few additional items. Furniture, I suppose. I understand you requested them from the House Contractor, but I’ve really little use for them, Zagreus.”

“Is the furniture not to your taste or something?” Zagreus frowns. He remembers picking them from the catalogue—he’d personally thought the rug made a rather fetching addition to the otherwise spartan area. And the chair, well, he can’t quite see Thanatos using it, but it’d be nice for Zagreus to have somewhere proper to sit for once instead of the usual balustrade. Not that he usually sits down around the House, anyway.

“I—no, well, I mean, yes—” Thanatos crosses his arms, looking uncomfortable. “Ugh, I… _appreciate_ them. But they’re...unnecessary. Are you still looking for my forgiveness, after everything you put us through? There’s no need to lavish me with such gifts, like the ambrosia of late.”

Zagreus studies Thanatos more closely. There’s a slight flush to his cheeks—not quite pink the way it would be on Zagreus’s own expression, but still. “Are you saying you forgive me, then?” he asks. Then, he feels his heart lifting, a sweet soaring sensation of tentative hope as he wonders, “Wait, hold on, is this about the other thing I said? About liking you—”

Thanatos’s gaze snaps towards Zagreus, eyes widening slightly. “What? No—of course not,” he retorts. He’s floating again, rising above the ground. “That’s hardly what I was saying. Anyway, I’ve spent long enough here! I must report to Lord Hades. Farewell, Zagreus.”

Zagreus barely has time to open his mouth before Thanatos is gone, leaving only a few pale green wisps of smoke behind.

With a groan, he puts his head in his hands. Why does this have to be so difficult?

“Why, little godling, you’re looking positively lovelorn today,” Aphrodite gasps when Zagreus accepts her boon.

She materialises in the warm air of Asphodel, taking the ghostly form that all the gods do when they grant their boons, and tucks her hands under her chin. Her brow knits together, soft doe-eyes filling with sympathetic concern as she leans in closer. Zagreus tries not to look at the way the motion presses her breasts together, cleavage spilling over the pale curve of her arms.

“You poor, poor thing, I understand _completely_ ,” Aphrodite croons, shaking her head. “True love can be such a burden, but that makes the suffering all the more sweet, doesn’t it? You simply must keep trying, dearest, and do tell me if it all becomes a bit too much, I’m not the goddess of love for nothing, you know. Artemis, dear, tell him—”

Artemis blinks, glancing at Zagreus. Even in this form, she’s leaning away from Aphrodite, looking mildly uncomfortable. She gives him a curt once over, before her lips twist with something caught between pity and distaste.

“Look, ugh, this really isn’t my kind of thing,” Artemis cuts herself off with a grimace, then adds, “I don’t know, have you thought about just...not being in love?”

Zagreus flicks the bright pink blood off his sword, wincing as it splatters wetly across the grasses of Elysium. For such airy looking things, those Soul Catchers are surprisingly messy.

Many escape attempts ago, when he encountered his first Soul Catcher—or hmm, perhaps it was the third or fourth, having died promptly during his first glimpses of them—he consulted the Codex, ever curious to learn more. _Petty, spiteful souls flock together,_ he read, hearing the words in Achilles’s wise voice. _Here in the depths such souls sometimes flock in such great numbers that they congeal._

Now, Zagreus stands at the banks of the Lethe, watching the steady stream of water as it burbles over stones and swirls against the embankment. Its misty waters seem to flow through all of Elysium, cutting through the viridescent grasses and curving around the enormous crystal statues and stone pillars alike. It wasn’t until later—when he learned that Elysium was reserved for heroes, those beloved by the gods when during their brief lives on the surface—that he thought it strange that Soul Catchers would be found in Elysium, of all places. That such glorious heroes in their mortal lives would turn into something so poisonous. It seemed impossible.

Then he’d met Patroclus, heard him mutter about lost love under his breath in that same echo of bitter grief that he hears in Achilles’s voice sometimes—and Zagreus thinks he might understand.

“Don’t get too close,” a familiar voice warns. “I wouldn’t trust you not to slip in and accidentally swallow a mouthful.”

“Huh—oh,” Zagreus startles, twisting around so fast he nearly trips over his own feet and into the river. “Uh, hi Than! When did you get here?”

Thanatos crosses his arms, looking distinctly unimpressed. “As soon as you arrived, as I always do. Though, you were clearly too distracted to greet me this time.”

“Sorry.” Zagreus offers a sheepish laugh, scratching the back of his head. “Guess I was too busy caught in my thoughts.”

“Wouldn’t have many of them left, if you drank from the Lethe.” Thanatos comes alongside him, hovering low enough that his feet almost brush dewdrops from the grass. “What inspired such deep thought?”

“Oh, uh. Well. Lots of things, I guess.” Zagreus waves in the vague, general direction of the rest of Elysium. “Life, death, the perils of the mortal realm. Ransacking my Father’s domain. The usual.”

Not _quite_ what he was thinking about, but close enough. It’s not as though it’s that far from the truth either. Zagreus looks back down, at the misty flow of the Lethe. Sometimes, he feels as though he’s forgotten what it was that drove him out of the House to begin with. His earlier attempts to leave had felt like a desperate quest—to shrug off the stuffy confines of the House, to prove his father wrong, and make his glorious escape to the outside world. To leave behind that nagging, needling feeling that he wasn’t quite _meant_ for the Underworld.

“I...see,” Thanatos replies slowly. There’s a faint tone of worry in his voice, a hesitation, like he’s not quite sure what to do when Zagreus is like this. His brow furrows. “Or rather, I don’t. It’s unusual for you to be so vague, Zagreus.”

Zagreus idly lifts his foot, looking at the singed grass where he was standing. “It’s just...I thought I’d find something, once I escaped. Wait, that makes it sound like I’m disappointed about finding mother, and I’m not, promise,” he adds hastily, waving his hands. “I mean, I never would’ve thought I’d find her alive, and be able to bring her back, so...I’m grateful, really.”

“But?”

“Well,” Zagreus looks away. It feels embarrassing to admit, childish—he’s achieved more than he’d ever hoped, really, and now, to feel like there was _more_ that he wanted… “I feel like I was just searching for something else, you know?”

Thanatos walks closer, and Zagreus watches as he stares down into the Lethe, expression carefully blank. “I...think I might understand. To a degree. It’s not something I can say I experience myself, but—” he shakes his head, hair falling forward so that Zagreus can’t see his eyes in his reflection. “I mean, you already know, don’t you Zagreus? That we gods don’t bleed, not the way mortals do. When cut, we bleed ichor, the immortal blood.”

Zagreus thinks back to his last fight with the Furies—several escape attempts ago, when he’d staggered to his knees, hearing Alecto snarl through bared teeth, _that was a sloppy fight, even for you redblood._ It wasn’t hard to see the way her lips curled with disgust, even as she grinned that wild, vicious smile of hers and flayed the rest of his blood from his body. “Even mine?” Zagreus asks, wryly.

“Even yours,” Thanatos agrees, almost instantly, then hesitates. “But you’re not entirely wrong. I suppose you are...somewhere in between? Do you recall, when you’d asked me how it is I know where to find you?”

“Huh? Oh, uh.” Zagreus wracks his memories, trying to think back—it tends to get a little hazy between deaths. “That erm, one time I died during our competition, right?”

He doesn’t miss the subtle eye-roll. “Yes, that one, but I digress. Point being—you know what, here. It’s easier to let you feel for yourself.”

Thanatos turns towards him and reaches out with his unarmed hand, pressing his palm against the bare skin of Zagreus’s chest. It happens so fast that Zagreus doesn’t have time to react—he ends up staring down at Thanatos’s hand, _touching_ him, thoughts scrambling to remember the last time Thanatos had done so willingly. For a moment, nothing happens. Then, Zagreus feels it—a small flutter under his skin, digging deeper, as though one of the fluorescent souls flitting around the chamber had managed to worm its way into his chest cavity, until it was perched somewhere against his ribcage.

“Ugh, that’s—what is that—” His mouth falls open with a faint gasp. It’s not painful, not exactly, but he isn’t sure he likes it either. That _something_ squirms inside him, tugging him, and the sharpness of the sensation makes his stomach flip.

Thanatos draws his hand back, and the feeling fades as rapidly as it came.“The way you’re somewhere between god and mortal—it lets me sense you, to some degree.”

Zagreus touches his chest, where he can feel the ghostly impression of the touch. “Does it always feel like that?”

A beat of silence, broken only by sound of the Lethe. Thanatos looks away. “It’s...not always been so strong with you. Not that I have much choice about it, it seems.”

“I—Than—” Zagreus opens, and closes his mouth again. His throat feels dry, tongue shrivelled up in his mouth. “Is it such a bad thing?”

“You tell me, Zagreus,” comes Thanatos’s reply. It’s short, curt. “When you have your answer, come find me.”

When Thanatos leaves this time, he vanishes with a flash of green and the toll of a bell that sounds more like a heavy sigh.

Zagreus stumbles out into the stadium, shading his eyes against the familiar brightness as the roar of the crowd reaches his ears. He adjusts the grip he has on his sword, blade gleaming and ready as he raises it.

“Hello Asterius!” he pauses, then adds reluctantly, “and Theseus—”

“HOLD FIEND!” comes Theseus’s bellow. Across the arena, he levels his spear in Zagreus’s direction, eyes narrowing. “We’ve heard about your recent _flirtations_ with Death! Despicable! Your abject failure to win his affections casts shame on our glorious arena and noble fight. Have you no shred of dignity, monster? You think yourself _worthy_ —”

Zagreus resists the urge to let out a long-suffering groan. “Ugh, not you too. I’m really not in the mood this time, it’s not been a great day—”

“It seems my king feels particularly strongly about this matter,” Asterius rumbles, almost apologetically, as he hefts his axe up against his broad shoulder. “My king, perhaps we should begin.”

“—to face the strength of the bond Asterius and I share? Ha! And now you dare seek to steal my friend away, like the miserable, loveless wretch you are! If only you’d put your _lusty passions_ towards wooing your own ill-fated beloved, mayhap you would stand a chance against us. To arms, Asterius! We shall send this hellspawn back to the depths—”

Climbing out of the Underworld and onto the surface always leaves Zagreus with a strange sense of urgency.

The sensation sits somewhere in his chest, behind his ribcage. At times, he wonders if it’s a lingering remnant of the heart-thudding elation that comes with besting his father—the thrill of emerging victorious, body aching and trembling with the rush of a battle well fought. Other times, he thinks it must be death shadowing his footsteps, lurking at his heels and urging him forward before his time runs out.

Up on the surface, in Greece, crumbling snow lies heavy on the thickets around him. He jogs on, leaving the entrance to the Underworld behind with melted puddles and faintly burnt blades of grass in his wake. Before he’d managed his first escape, the closest thing to snowfall he’d seen were the small traces of ash he left in his footprints as he ran through the halls of the House.

Not for the first time, Zagreus thinks about the fragility of the mortal realm.

After all, the Underworld was a place untouched by time—it knew no passing of the seasons, no changing of the guard. Only the endless renovations that Zagreus was determined to inflict upon the House (or so his Father so often muttered under his breath) brought fresh change to the surrounds. But through the rest of it, stretching from gloomy Tartarus to the misty fields of Elysium—one would find the same stony corridors that echoed each footstep tenfold, the same crystal ruins, crumbling and half-swallowed by damp moss.

When he reaches the quiet cliffs overlooking the horizon, an icy breeze blows through his hair, heralding the swift approach of the evening chill. Across the ocean, the tenuous, last strains of sunlight sink over the horizon, casting a soft glow over glittering waters.

Shading his eyes against the glare of the setting sun, he wonders idly where Thanatos is. How far beyond the horizon he might be, busy with his work. Gathering the souls of those departing this world, and shepherding them onto the next, deep in the Underworld.

It makes Zagreus think back to their earlier days, when he’d asked Thanatos once, unable to hide the incredulous disbelief from his voice:

"With all the freedom you have between the mortal realm and the Underworld and even Olympus...you’d choose to come back?"

Thanatos regarded him at the time, arms crossing over his chest, almost defensive. "Is that so hard to believe? Everything I have is here, in the House."

He hadn’t understood it at the time. Neither had he understood the hurt and anger on Thanatos’s face, the first time he’d caught up to Zagreus mid-escape.

But now, he thinks, he might.

“Hey boy, got a question for you,” Zagreus says, reaching up to give Cerberus a scratch around the ears. He gets a lick for his trouble, a wet slap from one of Cerberus’s tongues on his cheek. “Bit of a weird one but I’m at my wits end, really, and everyone’s given me a piece of their mind by now, so I figured I’d give it a go. Anyway, I don’t...suppose you’ve ever been in love, have you?”

Cerberus yawns, jaw opening wide enough that Zagreus can count all his teeth—each the size of daggers, and white as bleached bone. One after the other, Cerberus’s other two heads yawn in turn before shaking, as though throwing off the sleepiness. All three enormous heads turn to look at Zagreus, gazing at him with affection and slight confusion.

Zagreus sighs. “I’ll take that as a no.”

More than once, Zagreus finds himself mulling over the progression of their relationship—the small, gentle thing that blossoms between them, growing larger and larger until Zagreus isn’t quite sure where it begins and where it ends.

They get there, eventually. The complicated answer closes with Thanatos waiting in Zagreus’s bedroom, fiddling with the fabric of his clothes and unable to meet Zagreus’s eyes as he often does, when he’s nervous and scared and unsure. Zagreus can barely breathe for the relief of it, finally accepting that gift that Thanatos had placed in his hands, since long ago.

But there’s an answer in the smaller moments too—the forgotten meetings between them, which pour like water into the last remaining gaps of the thing they’ve built together, and fills them until it overflows.

It’s in the forgotten meetings between them, the memories brushed over, in the places where it starts—

And how it starts is like this—a quiet murmur, a held breath, like small feet landing softly on the plush rugs that line the corridor. A near silent pitter-patter, creeping along shadowy lines, until Zagreus manages to peer around one of the looming columns of the House, at the small figure standing in front of his Father’s desk.

He’s seen them before, a sombre individual who floats like the other gods of the House, rather than sliding across the floor like a shade. A dark hood covers their head, shielding their face from view, and an enormous scythe arches high over their head. The silver blade curves gently, dangerously, glinting in the low light of the chamber. The figure seems to be talking, gesturing slightly in emphasis, as his father continues to pore over a thick pile of parchment with a faint grimace.

“Those stubborn mortals reproduce like rabbits,” Hades mutters. “Endless wars and plagues and yet there’s always more.”

A pause. Zagreus strains to catch the figure’s whisper-soft reply, but their words are too quiet for him to hear. Hades glances up, a familiar scowl etched deep across his brow.

“Enough.” Hades’s voice rumbles through the chamber, echoing with a note of finality. “I am not asking, Thanatos.”

The figure hesitates, before bowing deep from the waist. Long, pale grey hair falls forward with the motion like a heavy curtain. Then they turn, ever so slightly, a subtle glance in Zagreus’s direction, and he shrinks back, afraid to be seen. But—a flash of dull green, and an echoing toll of a bell—and they’re gone, leaving behind only a few wisps of ethereal smoke.

“Dear child,” a low voice suddenly murmurs from behind him, “what are you doing out here? Should you not be asleep?”

Zagreus whirls around, startled enough to run, but instead stumbles headfirst into a swathe of fabric. Gauzy folds of deep indigo, as dark as the night. He freezes, before letting his eyes travel up reluctantly to meet Nyx’s questioning look. The apology on his lips wars with the urge to ask, _Who was that_ , but after a nervous glance back to the Great Hall where his father sits, unaware of his eavesdropping, he tries for an imploring expression instead.

A faint sigh. “Come now,” she says gently, and a slender hand falls onto his shoulder. “To bed with you.”

Later, Nyx introduces the sombre figure to him, letting Zagreus peer out from behind her skirts as she holds out an open hand to the other. The figure has a handsome face, youthful features framed by the gentle fall of his hair. He doesn’t smile at Zagreus, but there’s no hostility in his expression either; he listens to Nyx with respectful attentiveness, before turning his gaze to Zagreus.

A rustle of his robes, hooking the scythe behind himself, then he’s landing on the ground, both feet coming to rest on the rug.

“Hello, Zagreus,” Thanatos says. He reaches out, almost hesitantly, and Zagreus, without thinking, clasps that pale grey hand in both of his own.

It’s warm, softer than he’d expected, just barely flinching when Zagreus had first grasped it, as though unaccustomed to being touched. Then Thanatos turns his hand, still in Zagreus’s grip, until his palm is face up, as if in offering.

~~~

“—and I just said _whooooaaa_ , but then everything made sense? I mean, someone like Thanatos, with how prickly and busy he is all the time, I was worried he was going to be alone forever. And I'm saying that as his brother! I guess you're going to have your work cut out for you huh?"

Hypnos chatters on, bobbing up and down in midair, oblivious to Zagreus’s attempts to ease away. While nobody would call the god of Sleep loud per se, his lackadaisical quips did have the unfortunate habit of carrying just a tad further than one might like for an awkward topic. Already, a few shades are turning towards their conversation with faint interest in their large, glowing eyes.

Zagreus sizes up the distance between Hypnos's station and the entrance to the West Hall, mulling over his odds. It's a good lunge away, maybe a few long steps if he wants to be more subtle.

“—everyone is really happy for you, if you were wondering! It's made _quite_ the news around here—"

It takes a moment for it to sink in. _Hmm_ , Zagreus thinks with a flutter of anxiety, _that...doesn't sound good._ "Erm. News?"

"Oh yeah, like you wouldn't believe, things like this just get around so fast! Only takes one person to hear it, then everyone’s heard it! Isn’t that amazing? I mean, I found out myself when I overheard Lord Hades this morning, oh boy was he surprised, spilled both pots of ink, would you believe? What a mess—”

_Oh, no._

“—went all over those new contracts from the battle in Boeotia. Oh, and then your Mother, Queen Persephone, gosh she was rather beside herself, I think she might’ve teared up— "

"I've uh, just realised—" Zagreus blurts out, when Hypnos pauses to take a breath, "—I think I'm late for—for a, uh thing. Just a...thing. But it’s really quite important, so I've got to get going, sorry to break it off, see you around Hypnos!"

Zagreus edges away as he talks, backtracking in the general direction of the entrance to the West Wing. He raises his hand in farewell as Hypnos blinks and waves a confused goodbye, then breathes out a sigh of relief when he rounds the wall, shaking his head ruefully.

Really, at this stage, he shouldn’t be surprised anymore.

He turns left, towards the southern balcony. There’s a new table in the West Hall, just near Thanatos’s usual balcony. Gleaming bronze vases sit on the polished surface, near the books and loose leaf parchment. Deep red roses line the inside of one vase, so dark towards the centre that they look almost black.

Thanatos turns, when Zagreus’s footsteps come close enough to be audible. He’s standing on the ground already, his scythe resting carefully against the plush, purple recliner just to the corner. He raises an eyebrow, amused, at Zagreus’s harried expression.

“You took your time,” he says.

"Hey, Than," Zagreus says, grinning. "Sorry to keep you waiting."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments always appreciated!
> 
> Also, I'm on [Twitter](http://twitter.com/sejirin) if you'd like to come talk!! (*´▽｀*)


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